


Electing Helplessness: Next Time

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Discovery & Laughter [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Feathers & Featherplay, Fluff, M/M, TWP - Tickles Without Plot, Teasing, Tickling, Ticklish Castiel, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: Dean sets up a challenge. Cas isn't sure whether he wants to win or lose.---“C'mon, let them come out to play. Promise I’ll be nice.”The touch drifted back down to Casiel’s underarms again. It idled there, fingertips wiggling soft and unhurried in the hollows above his ribs, setting him squirming and huffing once more.“I’ll do it just like this,” Dean purred just above his shoulders, the easy pace keeping steady. “Slow and careful, all over those ticklish spots underneath, right where you’re most sensitive… Make you giggle and moan that way you do, when you can’t tell me whether you want it to stop or want more.” Dean’s voice dripped with enticement. “I know you love it, and I want to get my hands in those gorgeous feathers of yours, so why wait?”





	Electing Helplessness: Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted Jan 2018 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/169319593125/electing-helplessness-next-time).

A rumble of appreciation crept its way up Castiel’s throat and spilled, muffled, into his pillow. Dean’s mouth was warm on the side of his neck, and the hunter was adding just the right pressure of teeth as Castiel tilted his head toward one side. Dean hummed into the skin, his tone warm with satisfaction. He clearly took pride in drawing reactions out of Castiel, pursuing the pleased sounds with studious precision. And Castiel found few downsides to letting him indulge.

Castiel sighed languorously, his breath warming the pillow beneath his cheek. He didn’t know precisely what Dean had in mind for today, though there was sure to be the familiar theme of teasing touches, as was always the case whenever restraints came into play.

The cuffs that held his wrists stretched away from his sides were a relatively new addition. Castiel had no complaints about the prior usage of his and Dean’s neckties, but he had to admit, the soft lining of the cuffs was less of a distraction. And Dean didn’t get as concerned about the gentler marks they left behind (which was completely unnecessary, but the way Dean would absently press his lips into Castiel’s wrists over the next few hours in silent apology had never been unpleasant, either). Binding sigils had been permanently etched into the leather, and Castiel had felt their effect the moment they closed around him, damping his power. It wasn’t unpleasant - just another type of sensation, not unlike the feeling of a simple exhalation.

Dean’s hand ran tenderly down the length of Castiel’s bared spine. He’d asked for Cas to be positioned facedown this time, and Castiel had complied without question.

“So, I remembered something,” Dean started conversationally, as he pulled away from Castiel’s neck and settled on his knees at the angel’s side. He stroked down the length of Castiel’s arm where it stretched all the way to the edge of the mattress, his fingertips lingering at the edge of the cuff. “The first time you introduced me to your wings.”

Castiel furrowed his brows slightly and turned his head to watch Dean’s hand trace the marks cut into the thick brown leather. “When you first summoned me?”

“No, the official meet ‘n’ greet.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, then widened a fraction as his shoulders shifted in memory. He flexed cautiously against his restraints, feeling their unyielding tug against his outstretched limbs. His ankles were captive at the foot of the bed, cuffed half a yard apart from each other, his toes just brushing the bottom edge of the mattress. He’d been laying something like this – though not so purposefully stretched out – the first time Dean had seen the physical presentation of his wings. Castiel remembered the feeling of absolute bliss, his wings not having been touched in what seemed like eons; Dean’s gentle fingers carding through them in awe, tracing the edges of the feathers, fingertips burrowing under warm layers of dark down to press into the flesh beneath.

The  _sensitive_  flesh. Castiel’s memory shifted to the pure desperation he’d felt when Dean had discovered how intensely ticklish his wings were. The hunter hadn’t had anything at his disposal other than his own hands and body weight, but he’d been able to nearly drive Cas out of his mind with laughter.

And now, Castiel was tied down, his powers useless. At first, he’d thought the draining effect of the cuffs rendered his wings unable to manifest, but now that he concentrated, he could feel them respond, however weakly, in the interdimensional space where they hovered.

He swallowed.

The sudden touch of Dean’s hand on his shoulder blade made Castiel flinch.

“How much control do you have over them?”

Castiel frowned. “As much as any other limb,” he said, mildly confused. “You know that.”

“Right, but…” Dean palmed over both Castiel’s shoulders and leaned down to drop a kiss on his nape. “They kinda surprised you that first time.”

“They didn’t surprise me,” Castiel huffed. He pressed his forehead down into the pillow, arching the back of his neck up into Dean’s kiss. “I knew what was happening, but I couldn’t warn you, because  _you_  were making me laugh.”

“Mm, right,” Dean mumbled into his skin, and Castiel jumped at the light brush of fingers high on the side of his ribs. He bit his lip and tried not to squirm from the teasing skitter of sensation.

“So, do you think I could do that again?”

“Tickle me until I can’t speak?” Castiel wriggled, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth as Dean’s fingers dragged carefully down his side. “It doesn’t seem like a lofty goal, since you apparently aim for it almost every time.“

“No, I mean…” Dean’s nose brushed down the top of his spine, soft kisses being dotted along the way. “Well… okay,  _yes_. That too.” Dean’s voice shifted into a smile, right before a kitten lick between his shoulders made Castiel shiver. “But I mean, your wings. Get ‘em to come out like that again.”

Castiel’s lips parted as a ripple of goosebumps surged out from the epicenter of Dean’s mouth, warm and wet between his scapulae. He closed his eyes and barely suppressed a shudder. “All you have to do is ask,” he said breathlessly.

“Mmm.” Dean suckled at his skin, and Castiel was fairly sure his knees would have given out, had he been standing. Tingling pulses followed the wake of his goosebumps, refreshing them before they had the chance to settle. If this was how he could expect the rest of the night to progress, he’d manifest his wings right then (regardless of how difficult that might be in his powered-down state) before Dean even took the breath to ask, and fluff and display them and keep shoving them into the hunter’s face until they got the attention he craved. He wondered if Dean had any ideas for restraints that were capable of holding his wings. Another dizzying rush of chills coursed through him at the thought: Dean palming over his wings as they were held unyieldingly taut, fingers trailing delicately through his down, the soft press and pull of Dean’s lips in tender places he was helpless to defend–

“I mean  _make_  them come out.”

Castiel blinked back into awareness. “Why would you need to–”

“ _You_ , trying to keep them reigned in.  _Me_ , trying to force them out.” Dean’s wicked grin was audible, hovering just inches above Castiel’s spine while tantalizing hands ran hot over his shoulders.

Castiel swallowed as another thrill cascaded through him. Only one consideration came to mind. “There needs to be a time constraint if I’m to have a chance at any measure of success.”

Dean hummed in deliberation for a moment. “‘Til Sam gets back,” he decided.

“That…” Castiel blinked. “That could be either ten minutes from now, or hours. He didn’t say how long he’d be gone.”

Dean’s voice was low and close to his ear. “I know.”

The mattress dipped and shifted, and the warmth of Dean’s breath lifted from Castiel’s neck. Weight and body heat slid low over his lumbar. Dean’s calves dragged at the fabric of Castiel’s boxers as the hunter settled himself over Castiel’s body; calloused hands, one after the other, pressed down on the pillow at either side of Castiel’s head. The breath returned just behind his nape.

“So what do you think?” The conversational tone was gone, the timbre of Dean’s voice dropping with every word until it burrowed into the base of Castiel’s skull. “Up for it, angel?”

Castiel was already rolling his lower lip between his teeth to suppress a smile. He turned his head further to one side so he could look up at the hunter leaning over his back. “By all means,” he said, allowing his own pitch to sink to match Dean’s.

Dean groaned and dipped down to catch Castiel’s lips in a kiss. “You are…” he pressed his lips to Cas’ again, “…so sexy. Have I told you that lately?”

“Just before we started, I think.” Castiel smiled and rolled his shoulders pleasantly when Dean’s head dropped to mouth at the curve of his neck.

“Mmm. Well, I’m telling you again.” Dean shifted back, his weight leaning on his elbows as he kissed down Castiel’s shoulder. “So… damn… sexy.” The statement was unexpectedly punctuated with softly circling fingertips in Castiel’s underarms. Cas arched up gently at the light tickle and flexed his own fingers as his wrists twisted in the cuffs. He muffled a low humming giggle in his pillow.

“Love when you do that,” Dean murmured into his back. “Get all squirmy just from this.” The circling lengthened into gentle sweeping strokes that trailed from Castiel’s triceps to partway down his ribs and back up again, making him alternately twitch and shiver. “You’re gonna be such a mess by the time we’re done…”

The touch abruptly stopped as Dean levered himself up and scooted back, his weight pressing down on the backs of Castiel’s thighs.

“Think I’m gonna work from the bottom up, starting right here. How’s that sound?”

Castiel didn’t answer, just drew in a breath as a faint line of tingles whispered across the lowest part of his back, following the low-slung waistband of his boxers. It traveled lazily from one side of his hip to the other, dipping just far enough over the curve of his side to make his abdominals contract before reversing direction. Back and forth it roamed, creeping only millimeters higher with each pass. Dean clearly meant to take his time. It was almost too light to even count as touching, and Castiel tried to push up into it, to feel the drag of calloused fingertips against more than just the fine hairs lining his lower back. He knew he’d be desperate to escape it soon enough, yet this made him itch for Dean’s hands, for a more substantial touch. But Dean’s thighs were pressed firmly against his own, keeping him immobile as his muscles flexed and his nerve endings prickled with just the edges of sensation.

“You’re trying awful hard to move, angelcakes. Everything okay?”

The soothing tone was even more frustrating, and Castiel grumbled into the pillow. Dean knew full well what he was doing, as evidenced by the low chuckle that barely reached Castiel’s ears.

“Maybe this’ll help.”

Gentle fingertips spidered over the lengths of muscle alongside his lower spine. Castiel gasped softly, his hips finding extra incentive to twist despite Dean’s weight. His outstretched arms tensed, shoulders pulling, belly pressing into the mattress as he attempted to bow away. Dean was a breathtakingly effective tickler – as Castiel had been made to discover, repeatedly – and Castiel could never decide whether his light, scribbling tickles or his rigorous, digging ones were worse. His fingers always found the spots that made Castiel want to fold in on himself, but the intensity was always regulated to be just shy of overwhelming. At least, as long as Dean wanted it to be.

Castiel not-so-secretly loved it.

Right now, the skitter over his skin was like an electric caress, sparking down through his nerves and tightening his insides beyond his conscious control. Castiel huffed against the pillow, drawn gradually closer to laughter as Dean neared his sides, or the lower edge of his ribcage, or the shallow dimples at the base of his spine.

“How’s that? Better? Feels all good and tickly, doesn’t it?” Dean’s fingers wiggled a little faster at the word  _tickly_ , making Cas squirm. “Y’know, those wings of yours would probably enjoy this. Why don’t you pull them out, and I’ll make ‘em feel real nice.” Dean leaned low over his back, hands gliding up to brush along the sides of his chest. “All tingly and shivery,” he murmured, “just the way you like.”

Castiel shuddered, both at the suggestion and the way slow touches traced up the undersides of his upper arms. Dean teased nearly as well as he tickled, never failing to fluster. And he could be quite convincing; Castiel had no doubt that Dean aspired to follow through on his promises. When intent on nothing else, the hunter’s fine-tuned hands could draw Castiel to gasping heights of sensation. (And oh, how he wanted to make his home there, to roost and glory in that toe-curling, throat-baring haze of Dean’s attentive touch.)

But a challenge was a challenge, and Castiel wasn’t planning on losing.

“C'mon, let them come out to play. Promise I’ll be nice.”

The touch drifted back down to Casiel’s underarms again. It idled there, fingertips wiggling soft and unhurried in the hollows above his ribs, setting him squirming and huffing once more.

“I’ll do it just like this,” Dean purred just above his shoulders, the easy pace keeping steady. “Slow and careful, all over those ticklish spots underneath, right where you’re most sensitive… Make you giggle and moan that way you do, when you can’t tell me whether you want it to stop or want more.” Dean’s voice dripped with enticement. “I know you love it, and I want to get my hands in those gorgeous feathers of yours, so why wait?”

Castiel’s first unmuffled giggle slipped out then, as the hunter’s hands moved to the back edge of his armpits before wandering down his ribs.

“Mm, there it is.” Dean chased the sound by pinpointing the twin sensitive spots midway down the back of Cas’ ribcage. Castiel arched and gasped, his shoulders locking up toward each other for a brief moment before he disintegrated into choppy giggles. He twitched from side to side, tugging at his wrists as the tickle seemed to grow more potent the longer it lingered.

A chuckle filtered in under Castiel’s own laughter. “Still gonna keep your wings to yourself, angel?”

Castiel just continued to flounder. He didn’t have to be able to see Dean’s face to know the exact variation of sly smile that formed around the hunter’s next sentence.

“If I can’t have  _your_  feathers, then, I’ll just have to play with my own.”

The tickling devolved into playful stroking as one hand left Castiel’s back. Dean’s weight shifted just a little before before resettling, and Cas knew he’d reached for something.

“I said I’d work bottom-up, didn’t I?” Dean’s silky tone was apologetic. “I get kinda distracted. You’re just fun to play with everywhere. Let’s start down here again.”

A pair of light, flicking sensations danced at the lowest point of Castiel’s sides. His skin prickled up in response as he giggled nervously. Dean had used feathers on the rest of him before, but never yet on his back, and he shivered in anticipation of their teasing softness. They dragged along to meet each other in the center of his lower back before settling into swirling circles on either side of his lumbar.

“Now when I say ’ _my own_ ,’” Dean commented, “obviously I mean ones that were  _yours_  in the first place.” The feathers flickered further up Castiel’s spine to draw snaking patterns along his middle back. “Can’t beat angel feathers for tickliness. Just that right combination of stiff and soft, and yours are just so pretty, to boot.”

Castiel hadn’t been sure how effective this would be, but Dean either was exactly right about angel feathers, or was exceptionally good at wielding them. Most likely both. Castiel’s skin was quite adamant about the difference between the passive brush of his own wings against his back, which he was accustomed to, and the maddening dance these feathertips choreographed under his shoulders. Their quick, wisping touch felt like one part bliss to two parts torment. He gasped and mewled in a breathless sort of laughter, the ghosting strokes coaxing him to quivering against his restraints.

“That good, huh?” Dean teased. “By all means, keep your wings locked away if you want me to keep going.”

Castiel groaned in frustration. “Stop talking,” he growled, the first words he’d spoken since agreeing to this game.

Dean snorted a laugh. “You’re hardly in any position to tell me what to do, sweetheart.” The feathers teased higher up his back, lingering around the outer planes, for now avoiding the hypersensitive areas around and between his shoulder blades. Castiel whined, his shoulders twitching hard.

“And anyway, half the fun is gettin’ you all worked up.”

One feather strayed inward, tracing a brief arc over Castiel’s shoulder blade and sending a shower of sparks through his skin. He choked back a yelp.

“You just love this, don’t you?” Dean’s voice was all seduction again. “Being all stretched out, powerless, just for me.“ The hunter shifted, bending low onto one elbow by Castiel’s ribs so he could murmur right at the rim of the angel’s ear while keeping a feather moving incessantly with his other hand. "Laid open to be touched and teased, knowing that I’ll take you right to the edge, that you’ll be tickled and tickled and tickled until you think you can’t stand it anymore. And you can’t do anything to stop me, can you?”

The feather swept in over his shoulder blade again, and Castiel lost all the air in his lungs. “D-Dean—”

"Gonna pick you apart at the seams, get into all those sensitive spaces, make you squeal ‘til you can hardly breathe. And then I’ll just keep going. 'Cause I know you love every desperate second of it, don’t you, angel?”

Castiel  _already_  felt like he couldn’t breathe, though laughter wasn’t the culprit just yet. The feather’s fluttering, circling pattern was drifting steadily inward, skimming now over the flat of his shoulder blade. Every brush was a pleasure-coated jolt of ticklishness that made him whimper and gasp. Dean was still right by his ear, humming and leisurely drinking in his conflicted sounds.

“You ready to give me your wings yet?”

Casriel fought to regain control of the erratic rhythm in his chest, his throat constricting around a wavering swallow as he turned his head to look up at Dean’s close-hovering face. “I’m not… 'giving’ you anything,” he panted, his existing smile twisting further up into a challenging grin.

Dean, for his part, appeared smoothly unimpressed. He gave a modest bob of his head and said, “Guess I’ll have to  _take_  what I want, then.”

The hunter’s face retreated as he sat up, and Castiel had time to take one breath before his world exploded.

Vicious, scrabbling fingers attacked his feather-sensitized skin. The sparks were now rocketing fireworks, and the rest of Castiel’s senses briefly whited out as his upper body seized in toward his spine. Then he was screeching, hysterical, half-panicked with the sudden blaze of sensation that engulfed the most fiercely ticklish parts of his vessel.

Dean was using every ounce of knowledge about Castiel’s weaknesses here: kneading deeply at the muscle and skittering like lightning along the edges of bone. Castiel’s suppressed Grace surged against its boundaries in sync with his laughter. He wrenched against the cuffs that held him bound, the bed frame’s groaning lost under the manic sound that would have shorted out the whole bunker had Castiel’s true voice been loosed. Dean would have still been hovering at his ear, murmuring teasing comments to make it that much worse, except the hunter was wisely keeping his distance.

His wings strained in the celestial plane, wrestling with the combination of his own willpower and the sigils that kept them muzzled. He was losing ground in the battle against the instinct for defense and flight, and he could do nothing about it. The helplessness was thrilling.

Castiel writhed, more delirious laughter being wrung out of him with every futile twist. He could feel control slipping away from him, and then there was a final slide, an abrupt sensation of falling–

A snapping rush of sound brought instant relief.

Castiel gasped into his pillow, every nerve trembling in aftershock. An intense prickling, like a limb that had fallen asleep, flared along physical flesh that hadn’t been there a moment before. Castiel heaved one breath, then another, before tentatively flexing the dark wings that now loomed over his back and out across the mattress.

Dean was already scooting up, sliding in close, running his palms up the sides of Castiel’s chest as he laid himself over the length of Castiel’s spine between the open wings.

“I win,” he purred into the back of Castiel’s neck.

Castiel shivered at the first brush of fingers on the upper edge of his wing, where Dean had cupped his hands up from underneath to play at the lesser coverts. Cas pulled in a deep breath through his nose, then let it out in a whoosh.

“It appears,” he croaked, then rubbed his face partially into the pillow and cleared his throat. “It appears you do.” He rotated his wrists carefully in the cuffs that still held him in place. He couldn’t quite find it in himself to be disappointed.

“Everything still okay?” Dean asked quietly, while his fingers trailed out along one wing toward the elbow joint. The feathers along the edge began to puff up yearningly in the wake of the long-awaited touch.

“Yes,” he sighed at the pillow. “Congratulations.” He pressed his wings down against his back, squeezing Dean’s arms insistently beneath them. “Now _touch me_.”


End file.
